What They Say About Love
by Red Hot Holly Berries
Summary: "If love is the answer, could you please rephrase the question?" And Francis and Arthur, stumbling and supporting each other, together they are sure to be able to find all the questions.
1. Not So Old

"_If love is the answer, could you please rephrase the question?"_

_And Francis and Arthur, stumbling and supporting each other, together they are sure to be able to find all the questions._

_.  
_

"_A heart who loves beauty doesn't know oldness."_

Turkish proverb

.

"Come on, time to wake up!"

Curtains were drawn with energy, and the person in bed hid his head under the pillow to escape from the merciless light, mumbling various curses.

But also Francis was merciless: with a laugh he stole the pillow from Arthur, freeing it easily from his sleep numb fingers and, with the elegant gesture of a waiter in a restaurant, he took off the covers from him.

The English huddled up, stroking his bare arms and legs to feel again the warmth from which he had been so abruptly deprived, and he opened one eye, fixing that green gem on his mate standing next to him.

"After all we did last night, you still have the nerve to make me get up at dawn?" He asked sleepy, levering on his elbows and rubbing his face.

"Just some centuries ago you wouldn't have complained… You're aging, Arthur!" Francis joked, bending to cast a kiss on that adorable pout.

"You talk! You're some hundreds years older than me!" The other replayed, pinching his cheek in a friendly way, but hard enough to make him fake a wince.

"My people may be. But when I look at you, my heart beats with the energy of the boy I was when I first met you!"

At that, Arthur laced his arms behind the French neck, drawing Francis towards him and hiding his face in the hollow of his neck, mumbling something like "stupid romantic".

But Francis laughed and kissed his unruly hair, feeling the heat of his skin even through his shirt, and he could swear he could also feel the other smiling.

* * *

Have you ever seen that series of little book large only 3x4 cm, by Smallworld Publishing, the Irrestibooks? I was just a kid, and my first child love gave me one of those books, titled "I Love You". It was a collection of quotation about love, and when I took it again in hand, I decided to use it to do a thing I've always wanted to do: a collection of moments about my favorite couple, FrUk!

One little story for each quotation! ^_^

But as they aren't endless, if you know some others quotation about love, tell me! I'll dedicate her/him one of those micro-chapters! xD

p.s: the quotations of the prologue is by Lily Tomlin


	2. Say My Name

"_A name pronounced is the recognition of the individual to whom it belongs. He who can pronounce my name aright, he can call me, and is entitled to my love and service."_

Henry David Thoreau

* * *

"So, is everything all right, France?"

His head of state's question shook the blonde nation from his trance, making him jerk in his armchair lined in fine leather.

"What..? Oh, yes, yes, everything's all right." He mumbled, bringing to his lips the coffee grounds left in his cup, around which he had intertwined his fingers, trying to instinctively draw its warmth.

He made a grimace swallowing the now cold coffee, and he answered with a smile to his leader's irked expression, sitting in front of him beyond the elegant table upon which there were two little decorated plates, a silver sugar bowl and a folder with some documents in it.

Their sight made him try to remember which freaky political plan were they talking about, and after coming to realization that it was just the same thing over and over (as in: the reason why they were in London), he added, knowing that agreeing with them was always the best way to make people forget any impoliteness, "You're right, of course."

"My head feels dizzy, I think I'll go out for a walk. We have lots of time before the meeting with the Prime Minister, anyway."

The blond stood up, barely noticing his boss' permission (as if he needed it), and with two steps he got out of that private room the luxurious hotel that hosted them offered.

Without giving himself the time to think, to mull over, he went down the stairs almost running and he crossed the hall at a fast pace, attracting that way the receptionist's attention.

"Mister Bonnefoy, right? Are you going out? Would you like for me to call a taxi?" She offered, proving the hotel's standards by remembering the name of his distinguishable guest.

"No, thank you miss. I think I'll go by foot." He made her blush by giving her one of his shining smiles (one of those he could summon without effort), and he headed towards the busy London streets, when he met Ireland, who was just getting into the building.

"'ello Francis! How are you? Would you like have a drink with me?" The young redhead greeted him, waving his hand.

"I'm sorry but I can't, I'm going out. Maybe another day?" He managed to replay to the other with another hurried (stretched) smile, and he rushed toward the street, just to avoid being stopped again, discovering that it wasn't even all that crowded.

He slowed his pace, breathing deeply that cold, humid, ashes-like air, thinking that it tasted so much like _him_.

"_François_!"

The yell made him stay still, overwhelmed by hope – after all, there shouldn't be many French in London – and slowly he turned to his left, discovering to be in front of a small café.

And on the threshold, making wide gesture to draw him, there was Arthur Kirkland.

"Get in, idiot! It's too cold to stay out to skip work!"

And as he took the English's hand and was driven to his table, François _smiled._

And, not giving a damn about being in public, he hugged him, kissing those lips who had just gained one more time his eternal faithfulness.


	3. Good Old Pirates

"_All love shifts and changes. I don't know if you can be wholeheartedly in love all the time." _

Julie Andrews

* * *

The meeting between the European nations had finished sooner than expected, so France and England took the chance to come back to their hotel room to clean up and change before heading to dinner.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, Arthur rushed towards the bathroom, claiming to have the divine right par excellence to have the shower first, so Francis just sighed and went to choose the clothes he would have worn that evening, and by the time Arthur got out of the bathroom, wrapped in a cloud of stream and a big towel, Francis had already put them on.

"What do you think about today's meeting?" England asked him, falling down on the bed feeling slightly fatigued, but relaxed, after having soaked in the hot water.

"That we have you to thank for managing to get something done. If you hadn't separated Greece and Turkey, we would still be there." France said, only to cast a glance to the English.

"But the next time you decide to scare the crap out of us by behaving like you're still a pirate, please warn me before, understood?"

"How come?" Arthur said, with a smirk not much reassuring that echoed what had happened before. –I thought you found pirates to be sexy!"

"Not when you're surrounded by that sadistic and murderous air. You made Antonio burst into tears!"

"Right… Spain hid under the table blubbering!" Arthur laughed maliciously, thinking about that really fulfilling show.

"Sometimes you make me wonder how the hell we managed to get together when you did nothing but rob me and my best friend." Was France's baffled comment as he combed his hair, every of his gesture observed greedily by the other.

"'Cause we were simply too violent for anyone to match us." Arthur whispered as he rolled on the bed, leaving the towel behind, until he laid on his back with his naked front facing Francis; he stretched his arms towards Francis, who bent diligently, and carried on: "I was honest enough with myself to do what I wanted to do, while you tried to save the appearances… Do you remember when we used to get drunk and spend the night in some dodgy tavern?"

Arthur darted out of France's reach, smirking at his expression of open disapproval. –How it was to let yourself go and be yourself?"

Instead of reply, Francis looked out of the window and at the sky behind it, and asked, as much to himself as to the other: "How is it possible that we, who were so ferocious and greedy for power, ended up like this? Look at us! It's like we're living on our memories and nothing more! Once we would have been at each other's throat, while now we don't do anything else than tease and mock the other!"

The answer he got showed that he wasn't the only one who had thought about it: "We simply changed, that's all. Back then I wouldn't have trusted you enough to let you come near me... If not for bending you over the closest surface and fuck you senseless."

France thought about it, and he laughed: "Call me masochist, but I miss that time."

" You know what then? Dinner be damned! We'll go straight back to London and jump on my boat, and we'll disappear on the high seas for some time in honor of good old days!"

Francis stared at Arthur, diligent, serious old Arthur, who was proposing him to run away from everything and everyone, but then a smirk twin of England's one deleted his dismayed expression: anyway, that had been the last meeting, so they could get a little holyday, couldn't they?

He laughed again, a lustful glow in his eyes: "I can't wait to see how English pirates treat their prisoners, _Capitan Kirkland_."


	4. Truth Hurts

"_I love you, and because I love you, I would sooner have you hate me for telling you the truth than adore me for telling you lies."_

Pietro Aretino

* * *

"Shit! Why don't you understand it?"

Francis had come to his limit, and he could no more stand to be silent. Watching. Suffering.

"I don't understand _what_?" Arthur said ferociously, gritting his teeth towards him as he buttoned up his perfectly ironed shirt.

"That he's taking the piss out of you?" Francis replayed, whose self control was so stretching that some of the desperation he was feeling showed through his voice.

And indeed look at him, look at the personification of Franc: pathetic, imploring… Scared.

The only thing that distinguished him from a beggar was the fact that his last shred of pride didn't allow him to throw himself at his feet, spurring him on to face him on his feet, asserting their height difference.

But why was he rushing around so hard, he thought, when _he_ could tower over Arthur without effort?

"How dare you…!" England hissed, turning suddenly towards him, the elegant Italian jacket forgotten on the hotel bed.

He had prepared his best suit, elegant enough to adapt his refined gestures, but modern enough to make him fashionable, no, more: a creature perfect in all his details.

Francis felt angry tear stinging in his eyes remembering the afternoon of endless fitting to which he had subjected Arthur to have that suit done.

"He's using you! Now that he's understood that power plays are here in Europe, America's using you to have a stable point from which start!"

Yes, 'cause it was for America that Arthur was sleeking.

This wouldn't be their first meeting, but it would be the first one with the two alone, when Francis wouldn't be there to remind England of their bond.

The first one where Arthur would be at the mercy of the memories he had loved so much, without France there to protect him from the ghosts of his past.

"Why are you telling me this?" England growled, but the tome that accompanied those venom laced words was low, almost as imploring as France's had been.

"Because I love you, damnit!" Francis' angry admission was followed by a moment of silence, interrupted only by their labored breathing, as if choked by a sort of lucid insanity.

"Why the bloody hell did you have to say it!" Arthur cursed, letting himself fall on a chair, hiding his face in his hands, maybe in shame, maybe in defeat.

Francis stared at him, suddenly aware of that the other had realized Alfred's real aim from the beginning: the American could be subtle, but England hadn't survived centuries of political entangle by chance.

He had always known that the other wanted to use him, but he had done his best to persuade himself that it wasn't like this.

Even if the same… "person" had used him in the past, and then discarded him like a old rag doll.

"I hate you!" Arthur whined, too similar to a sob for Francis' tastes.

Who was the pathetic one, now?

But France approached the suffering Englishman anyway, and he stroked his hair tenderly.

"It's okay." He whispered, casting a kiss on his forehead and exiting the room quietly.

"It's okay."


	5. Vanity Is Not That Bad

"_He that falls in love with himself, will have no rivals."_

Benjamin Franklin

* * *

"Are you sure you don't wanna get out with us?"

Francis and Arthur turned in the same time towards the threshold of their room, from which Gilbert was looking at them.

"Humm… I don't know…" Francis replayed, lifting his hands like two plates of a scales.

"Get out with my friends, mess up, have fun and then coming back completely wasted… Or going dinner in the most luxurious restaurant of the city with some politicians and die out of boredom?"

He rolled his shining blue eyes, sighing: "Really, Gilbert, do you think I actually have a choice?"

Arthur patted him on the back: dressed in the best (or worse, it depends) of his punk years, he was going to follow program number one with Prussia, Denmark and, incredibly, China. A meeting between former empires, as to say, and a good way out from the boring routine of a Nation.

France sighed again, turning towards the mirror to examine his looks: dressed in an elegant dark-blue suit, with a light grey "blue shirt under it unbuttoned on the neck, he looked like the incarnation of a modern Adon.

He smiled satisfied, trying to pull his hair back with a hand and stretching the other to touch the shelf beside him, sure to have seen his lavender tie on it just before, without stopping to look at his reflection.

However a choir of laughers forced him to, and turning around towards Gilbert and Arthur, he found them bend out of laughs, and the fact that at every glance they casted at the French only seemed to increase their hilarity, Francis realized to be the subject of some joke.

"What are you laughing at, you idiots?" He mumbled like a spoiled child, and Arthur tried to calm him, with tears at his eyes that were surely not ones of repentance: "Nothing, nothing…"

"If you're enjoying yourself that much, look, I'll leave you with pleasure to Gilbert! Let's see if you're going to laugh, then!"

While Prussia was almost rolling on the floor from the laughers, England seemed astonished for his cutting answer, but then he recovered and, with a smirk that poured innocence like cream from a cake, he approached him and surrounded his waist with one arm, staring at their reflections in the mirror.

"How could I go with someone else?" He passed his free hand on Francis' shirt-clad chest, resting on the belt of his trousers.

"If this body is such to make France himself fall for it, how could I leave it unguarded such gift of God to us poor men?" Arthur whispered in his ear, a naughty expression addressed to Francis' reflection, who smiled in turn, turning to kiss his mate without stopping to look at the mirror with one eye.

"What Arthur, do you want me not to score, tonight?" Gilbert whined, observing them with a mischievous smile.

"That means that tonight the Awesome me will have to make it with Mathias. Or Yao. Or maybe both of them!" He exclaimed, and from the next room came the concerned people's opinions on the subject:

"Just try, fucker, and I'll leave you my axe where the sun doesn't shine as a memory!"

"If you feel like having a nice chat with Ivan, just try, Gilbert. What kind of coffin would you like?"


	6. When We Least Deserve It

"_Love me when I least deserve it, 'cause that's when I really need it."_

Swedish Proverb

* * *

"What happened, America?"

The personification of the United States of America turned towards the threshold of his kitchen, against which Arthur was leaning, dressed only in a pair of a tracksuit too big for him, and a lustful expression compared on the former's face, deforming his angelic features.

"Pfft, you're such a light weigh that you don't remember anything, Arty? Come on… The pub, the booze, me carrying you here, you dragging me to bed and making yourself be ridden like a slut in heat… Does it ring a bell?"

He cast a wink at him, adding: "By the way, you'd better thank me. For not leaving you there and also for the services later on… Even if I wouldn't have been able to say no to your plea! E from how you were moaning, I assume you enjoyed it!"

Arthur looked at him in the eyes, and America found himself unable to avert his gaze from those green emotionlesscoldhard_steely_ eyes.

He should have been feeling ashamed, beg him not to tell anything anyone.

Why was he silent? Why wasn't he blushing, spluttering, trying to deny the embarrass?

_Why did he looked like he was judging him?_

"Come on, Arty, don't sulk like this. There's nothing wrong, right? Only…" America widened his eyes, feigning shock.

Arthur hardly kept back the loathing.

"Oh, France, that's right! What are you going to tell him?" America asked with fake, rotten fake care, bringing a hand to his face in a theatrical gesture, every single word dripping sarcasm and derision.

"The truth."

The English's voice echoed like a whip, and America, unconsciously, backed.

"I'll tell him that nothing happened."

Inside him, America exhaled a sigh of relief, and on his face came back the allusive grimace.

"What? Lying to him? The perfect gentleman lowering himself to lie like a adulteress?"

But Arthur denied him again the control of the situation, perfectly composed.

"Last night nothing happened between us." He touched his lower back, without stopping to stare at him. –I'm not sore, and there's not sperm nor on me nor on the sheets."

How to resume in a sentence the terror that had haunted him when he had woken up naked, alone, in a bed that was him.

The piercing headache, the nausea and abhor he felt when he had thought of what he could have done.

"And from the black eye you're starting to show, I'd say you're the one who begged, but it looks like you didn't have luck."

America closed his hands in fists and grinded his teeth, abandoning every pretending of cordiality, and he approached threatening the other, who stopped him again with his whip"like tongue.

"You're pathetic." He said, and he turned toward the front door.

"Stop!" The other blond growled, grabbing his arm as Arthur was already unlocking the door, forcing him to turn towards the bigger man.

"What does he have in plus of me? You're a pair of losers, that's what you are!"

"You don't want me. You just want to see me running to you crying for your help, you want me to be bounded to you like you were to me long time ago. Well, realize this once for all, _loser_."

Arthur pierced him with a freezing sneer, impartial and merciless like death's.

"I'm not a child like you, and you will never obtain this satisfaction from me. Once, maybe, but now… Never."

"Why?" America asked with a desperate look, terrified of hearing his mind being dissected and exposed like this.

"Because you left and betrayed me when I needed you. And so, I won't be here when you'll need me."

"Why him, then? He hurt you as much as me!"

"Because Francis had always been with me. How do you say you Americans? "In thick and thin"? He loved me when everyone hated and loathed me, he loved me when I fell from my throne."

While America was asking, no, pleading an answer, his hold had slacked, and Arthur took the chance to open the door and get out, dressed only in those America's tracksuit trousers he found on the floor, too big for him but that protected a bit his feet from the gravel of the path.

"AAAARGH!" America yelled, giving a fist to the door, breaking it down, but Arthur didn't turn back.


	7. Loosing Weight

"_I think making love is the best form of gymnastic."_

Cary Grant

* * *

America understood he had reached the point of no return.

"Fucking..." He swore between his teeth as he fiddled with the safety belt and his trousers belt.

He was on the backseat of a cab, heading to the centre of Paris and the international meeting there held, and was fighting against the ghosts of his past.

Better, against all the pounds he thought he had lost, which seemed to miss him and thus had come back to see him... And it looked like they wanted to stay, the fuckers.

A couple of contortions after, America managed to undo the upper button of his trousers, and was finally able to breathe deep for the first time he had sat in that blasted cab.

In the remaining time before arriving to the UN offices, he made sure the belt hid the trick her had put and took a decision: the time to take action had come, and bend the adversities to his will!

That girth in excess had to vanish, or he wasn't any more the U S of fucking A!

A quick glance at his watch as he got off the car confirmed that, even if he was late for the first call, the real meeting wasn't still beginning for some time.

"America! Such a pleasure to see you. Have you decided to grace us with your mighty presence?" France politely welcomed him, leaning against a drink vending machine, even if America had the impression to see a suspicious shine into the other's blue eyes, as if something amused him to no end.

"Yeah, the hero has come! I know well you can't start without me!" America answered happily, and the blonde French said nothing, just smiling from behind his cup of coffee he was drinking and straightening mindlessly the folds of his tight shirt visible under his open jacket.

"I wanted to ask you something, France." America started, noticing the slim build of the nation, but he hesitated. A hero can't simply admit his weaknesses!

"Uh? Do tell. I'm listening." France invited him with a nod.

"Weeell... You see... I, wait, no, a friend of mine, like, has decided to lose weight, and I was wondering if you had any tips to give me - him! - to..."

France snickered silently, throwing his empty cup into the trash bin, then faced America and answered with a straight face: "There are endless ways to lose weight, but I'd suggest you not to try diets. Most of the times, they just make you hungrier. To have good results in little time, you'd better do much physical exercise."

America was too disappointed by that to remember the advice should have been for "a friend of his".

"But jogging is sooo boring!" he complained, pouting like a child.

"And who told you to go jogging? Find someone and have some healthy sex, no?" France said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

America looked at him as if he had something loose. "What? I didn't know that. Really?"

"Really. Sex makes you burn lots of calories: it's good both for the spirit and the body. Like some kind of unorthodox yoga." France confirmed with a light smile, and was about to add something else when suddenly England appeared in front of them from behind a corner like an avenging spirit.

"What are you doing here? The meeting is about to start!" He scolded them, but with a resigned tone.

"You're rude, Angleterre! I was giving America here some piece of advice to lose weight." France said back with an offended tone, but America cut him in.

"Come on, help me too! He suggested sex, but you must have your ways too! Everyone noticed how much you lost weight, lately!"

There was a moment of silence, and then France burst out laughing like a madman, leaning heavily against the machine vending machine to avoid falling on the floor and there roll for the laughers ("Ohmygodohmygod... Lost weight...!"), while England was becoming red enough to give Spain's tomatoes a run for their money, trying to look daggers at France enough to shut him up (and failing miserably at it) while spluttering something unintelligible ("It's not like I wanted it... Stupid wine frog...").

America stared at them with an utterly confused expression.


End file.
